A Dream Worth Keeping
by philalethia
Summary: Duo's thoughts after the war is over. Shounen ai 52, 12, Solo2


* * * * *

Notes: Okay, this is my first GW thing so be kind. It does have shounen ai (1+2, 5+2, and 2+Solo), so beware. If that's not your thing, then you probably should find something else to read.

I don't own Gundam Wing, never have, never will. Unfortunately I'm just a little, obsessed fangirl who enjoys messing around with the characters for her own amusement.

With that said, enjoy and review.

* * * * *

I used to love the stars. I remember spending my nights laying on ground of the street and gazing up at them. I thought they were the most beautiful things in the world. I wanted to build my life around those stars, to fly up and make one huge shining colony out of them all that would only exist for me and whomever else I wanted.

Of course that was years ago, before I was formally introduced to Death. Not that long ago I found the stars terribly dull and could hardly bear to look at them.

"It's the war," Quatre had claimed when I confided in him one night. "It's desensitizing you."

But now the war's over. And I'm already feeling the effects of it. The stars look a little brighter tonight. I can't help but think they're enchanting.

The others are inside, talking, laughing, reveling in the end of an era, so to speak. And yet I can't bring myself to, because the war is over, and in some small corner of my mind I don't want it to be.

As strange and selfish as it sounds, I think I subconsciously wanted this war to last, because I _liked_ being a Gundam pilot. It gave me a purpose; it made me important. And for that short period of time, it gave me a family.

And I know what you're thinking. _For a short period of time? They'll always be your family._ Yes, they probably will. But it won't be the same.

We'll be like that group of friends at the end of their senior year in high school who hug on the last day, exchange phone numbers, and swear to be best friends forever. Sure, the calls will come regularly at first but eventually they'll taper off into the occasional belated birthday greeting and then to nothing. Then one day, one of those friends will think _What ever happened to so-and-so? We used to be best friends._ So there will be a reunion where they'll all come back together to reminisce about old times, only to realize that that's just what they are, old times. They'll realize that that particular bond they had, that supposedly unbreakable bond that would hold them together until the end of time, had faded into a pile of empty memories. And then they'll go on with their lives, wishing it could have been different but knowing it was unstoppable.

I don't want that to happen to the five of us. Yet I have this sinking feeling that it will, no matter how much we try to avoid it.

Of course I never once considered this possibility before tonight. Maybe that's why I lost interest in the stars; they make me think. And thinking equals angst, at least for me.

But no, months ago I wanted this war to be over. I was sick of it all, sick of fighting, sick of killing, as strange and out of character as that sounds.

"If peace will make it stop, then that's what I want," I remember mumbling to Quatre as I idly watched the blood seep through the bandages on my hand. 

"I know," he replied, leaning closer to wrap an arm around me. "I wish we could have total peace, no fighting of any kind. No segregation, no discrimination, no power-hungry leaders, nothing." Then he ducked his head sheepishly. "Kind of a silly dream of mine, I know."

"Not really." I paused to think about it. "Maybe it's a dream worth keeping."

That conversation took place after Heero decided to self-destruct, and I was convinced that he was dead and that I, being Shinigami and all, had been the one to kill him.

I was fine for a day or so before it actually hit me, and then I had lost it entirely. I smashed my hand down onto a glass cup and watched it shatter and slide into my skin. 

Quatre and I became very close friends that night. He bandaged my hand and listened to my incoherent ramblings about falling in love with Heero, offering the most support he could. I don't think I can ever express how much that meant to me, him being willing to do that.

Of course when I learned Heero was still alive, I was not amused.

I remember when Heero and I first met. Well, okay, not the very first time. Then I had been too preoccupied thinking about how to save Relena to pay much attention to exactly who I was shooting. But I remember the hospital, because it was there that I got my first true glimpse of the Perfect Soldier. 

And the first thing I noticed was his eyes, his deep blue eyes that seemed to stare straight into my soul. I remember thinking that Solo had eyes like those. Then I wanted to be his friend. 

I didn't realize at the time how dangerous that was. I mean, trying to base a friendship on the fact that this other person bares a strange resemblance to your dead best friend is not exactly healthy.

Especially when you begin to fall in love with this replacement.

Except I really wasn't in love with him. If anything I was in love with his eyes which, in my mind, really didn't belong to him anyway.

I didn't see it at first, what I was actually doing. I just saw that I needed to be around Heero, that I had this indescribable desire to break that mask of his, to make him human.

Now I understand that I was subconsciously trying to mold him into the Solo that I once knew. I honestly think I would have died of happiness if he suddenly called me 'kid' in that familiar deep voice that I at one point had memorized. Because it was Solo I was in love with, not Heero.

And it sounds odd, for me to be in love with a dead guy who I hadn't seen since I was about seven years old, and even then I have no memory of having a crush on him. But I don't worry about it. After all, I call myself the God of Death for a reason, don't I?

We developed into a comfortable friendship, Heero and I. Although at times I swear we probably crossed the lines of it and ventured into a deeper, more complicated relationship, we always found our way back. Which is good, because I still can't look him in the eye for a long period of time without feeling unnervingly guilty.

The sound of footsteps jars me out of my reverie, and I turn quickly just in time to see Wufei approaching slowly.

"Maxwell," he says with a curt nod, which I return.

"Hi ya, 'Fei!"

He scowls briefly at the nickname, but to my surprise doesn't say anything. Instead he saunters to the spot next to me and sits down on the grass.

I note with bemusement that he's sitting a little closer to me than he probably needs to, and for a second I consider pointing this out and teasing him mercilessly. But then he would no doubt move away, an idea that I don't particularly like. It's comforting really, the fact that if I shift just a little bit to the left our elbows will brush lightly.

I don't though. I turn my head back towards the darkened sky and begin to relocate all of the constellations that I used to know by heart.

"So here we are."

I blink, causing me to lose Andromeda, and I stare blankly at Wufei. "Here we are," I repeat stupidly, thinking what a non-Wufei-like thing that is for him to say. It's something I would say to break the never-ending silence that seems to develop when I'm around Trowa. 

But Wufei doesn't break silences; he creates them.

I sigh and once again focus on the area I had found Andromeda in, only to discover that it's been covered by the ocean of stars. Realizing that finding it would almost be redundant I turn to my Chinese friend, fully intent on asking him if he's feeling all right.

The moment I open my mouth, he's kissing me.

It's surprisingly gentle, the way his mouth is moving against mine, if not a little hesitant, almost as if he's testing the waters. 

Various warning signs go off in my head, reminding me that this is Wufei and that justice-loving pilots and braided Americans don't mix well together.

And somehow I don't care, because this is quite honestly the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. I can't remember the last time someone's kissed me, much less like this. Maybe no one ever has.

With a mental shrug I slide my hand around his neck and pull him closer to me, deepening the kiss. He relaxes almost instantly, entwining his fingers in my hair and stroking his tongue fervently against mine.

After a few minutes I pull back, feeling oddly faint, and stare into his eyes. He gazes back for a second and I notice idly that his face is flushed, before he leans forward to briefly brush our lips together again and then fall back to his original position by my side.

I can't stop the small sigh that escapes my lips as I turn back towards the sky, just in time to see a shooting star dart swiftly across.

This is one of those moments, you know, those moments that you'll keep for the rest of your life, buried just below the surface. And you'll pull them out every once and a while when you're feeling nostalgic, and you'll remember them with a sad smile and a warm feeling in your chest. 

"It's really over, isn't it?" I ask, stealing a glance at my companion.

"Yes," Wufei replies, his top lip quirking upward in a sort of half-grin. "Yes, it is." 

Suddenly it doesn't seem as bad as it did before.


End file.
